


Plain As Toast

by Nimori



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimori/pseuds/Nimori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mal prefers his hands attached, Simon defends his table manners, and Jayne takes up poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plain As Toast

"It will simply have to come off," Simon announced. He had that distant look Mal hated, brow all furrowed like he was thinking complex thoughts. Not unlike the look Jayne got when confronted with a four-syllable word.

"Might be that I'm mistaken, Doc, but ain't that what we been trying to do?" Mal shook his wrist, not coincidentally jerking Simon's hand away from the tray of scalpels. Kaylee had sliced him up enough for one day.

"Pardon?" Simon blinked at him, slowly, like his fancy thinking had taken him someplace else. "Oh, I'm not going to cut the shackles. Kaylee hasn't had any luck breaking them open, so I thought I'd cut off your hand instead."

"My _hand_?" Mal spluttered even as Jayne chortled from the doorway.

"Mal Reynolds, One-Handed Bandit!"

"Shut it, Jayne. That don't even rhyme." He turned back to Simon, who was now reaching for his knock-out needles. "Why does it have to be _my_ hand? Why not yours?"

"I'll need both hands to perform the surgery," Simon said, entirely too sensibly. A pause. "Didn't I do a good enough job on your ear?"

Now the _sha gua_ doctor sound hurt. Mal looked from Jayne, whose lips were soundlessly forming 'handed' and 'bandit,' to Zoe, who was gazing at the ceiling with her mouth locked in a piss-poor imitation of an I-ain't-laughing smile. No help from either quarter. "An ear ain't as fiddly as a hand. What if it don't work right after?"

"They do so rhyme," Jayne said. "Handed. Bandit."

"I admit it's a more complex procedure," Simon said, and now he sounded happy at the prospect, "but not as much of a challenge as, say, an industrial accident. I've reattached severed limbs under conditions far more adverse than a planned procedure. Of course that was in a well-stocked hospital... Anyhow, if I take it off above the wrist--"

"No one's taking nothing off," Mal said, using his best 'captain's right so shut the hell up' voice. "We'll just have to wait for Kaylee to work up a way to cut this gorram Alliance contraption off."

Simon tugged halfheartedly at the shackles binding his left hand to Mal's right. "If you say so, Captain."

* * *

By dinner Mal was ready to let Simon saw off anything he wanted even if he sewed it back on upside-down. He'd known the not-cutting-off-Mal's-hand plan would entail staying in Simon's general vicinity until the plan had more steps to it than... not cutting off his hand. He just hadn't grasped all the ramifications of Simon's inescapable company.

Simon breathed. Loudly. He swung his arms when he walked. He made strange clicking sounds with his tongue while he inventoried Serenity's medical supplies. He read reports over Mal's shoulder. He had to piss ten minutes after Mal, when Mal had _clearly_ asked him if he had to go the first time they were at the toilet. He hummed while he peed, and washed his hands for a whole lot longer than necessary after. He shut the tap off with his elbow.

And then -- then! -- he'd had the nerve to stick up his nose when Mal picked his teeth with a thumbnail.

"Will you stop that?" Mal snarled the fifth time Simon jerked his hand sideways to dab his mouth with his napkin. "You're eating. Eating's messy. Wipe your mouth on your sleeve after you're done like the rest of us."

In point of fact only he and Jayne wiped their mouths on their sleeves, but no one but Simon used a napkin either, not even the shepherd.

Simon sighed -- as though _he_ were the one hard done by -- and moved the napkin to his other side. Somehow it only annoyed Mal more when Simon set down his fork to dab his mouth. And now Kaylee and Book were looking at Mal like he was the unreasonable one.

_Come on, Doc,_ Mal thought as hard as he could at Simon. _You ain't a martyr. You don't got to suffer in silence. Say something._

Simon, bless his prissy little heart, must have heard him. "Is it all right if I cut my food, or is it still your turn at monopolizing our joint arm?"

_Aha!_ No one had any call to resent Mal for shooting down a snide remark like that. "I never said nothing about taking turns."

"Fine." Simon sounded like he was chewing on the word. "Since you've commandeered my hand, would you like me to hold your knife for you? Your napkin? Oh wait, if you'd rather use my sleeve--"

Jayne suddenly laughed. Mal scowled across the table, and clenched his teeth when Simon did the same. Jayne paid neither of them any mind.

"You sharin'?" Kaylee asked when Jayne only continued to eat.

"Three-handed bandit." Jayne said this as though it were an actual explanation. "Man, I'd never get a lick of work done if I had three hands."

Everyone but River stopped eating.

"So," Wash said brightly into the silence. "Where are you boys sleeping tonight? You know, in case there's an emergency and we need to find you?"

"My cabin," they both said, and glared at each other.

"I need to be near the infirmary."

"My bunk's bigger."

"River might need me."

"I'm the captain."

"It'll be clumsy getting down your ladder chained together."

"Did you miss the part where I said I'm the captain?"

Simon's mouth thinned to nothing.

"Don't worry, Simon," River said around her mouthful of stir-fried protein. "He only says plums are high when he's losing."

* * *

Mal woke with Simon half on top of him, long limbs wound around him and loud snores ruffling the hair around his ears. His right wrist ached where Simon had wrenched it backwards and half underneath the both of them, and the part of him not blanketed with doctor was freezing since it seemed Mal's blanket wasn't good enough for the likes of Simon Tam -- he'd kicked it off the bed.

And something wet that might just be drool was running down his neck.

"Gorram it! Simon, get off me." Mal didn't have enough play to elbow him in the ribs, so he settled for pinching Simon's arm.

"Ow!"

Mal struggled to sit, but only succeeded in wrenching the arm still held under his body. Simon was strong. For a _tiao_ core-bred rich boy.

At last they untangled themselves, and Mal swung around to face his erstwhile bunkmate.

"Do I have to explain the rules to you again? Your side, my side. _Dong ma?_"

"Yes, fine, in the future I'll obey your orders in my sleep."

"I got the feeling you're making fun of me, Doc."

"Really, Captain?" Simon simpered back, falsetto. "I don't know what I've done to make you think that."

Mal punched him.

That should have ended it -- it usually did with Simon -- only he'd punched with his right hand by reflex and most of the force went into dragging Simon's arm along.

And that left Simon upright enough to punch him back.

They rolled off the bed, punching and kicking and, in Simon's case, hair-pulling.

"Stop fighting like a girl, Doc."

"Yeah? Then stop punching like one."

"It ain't a fair fight! My punching hand's stuck to your wrist."

Simon left off trying to knee him in the groin. His lips curled and a snort escaped, and then they were both chuckling, then laughing, then clinging to each other, doubled over with tears slipping free, bellies aching. They slid to the floor, panting.

"Simon?"

"Yes, Mal?"

"I really don't like you."

"Mmm. Punching hand," Simon said, and that set them off again.

* * *

In the end Kaylee rescued Mal from the prospect of being stuck to Simon until one of them died, and she didn't have to chop off any body parts either. Simon wasn't too happy about suiting up and letting Kaylee drill away at the shackles in the piercing cold of space, but Mal was too eager for freedom to care about the chance of Kaylee slicing through a glove.

The first thing Mal did with his new Simon-less self was go have a nice long shower -- _without_ his arm hanging over the door and Simon complaining about the hot steam from the other side.

Next, he locked himself in his bunk and reacquainted himself with his penis. It was very happy to see him, and they had a nice long conversation -- or rather three short ones.

Finished both items on his list of Things To Do As Soon As Simon's Gone, Mal lay back on his bunk. His sheets smelled off, like exotic spices and sterilization pads. Eau de Simon -- nutmeg and isopropyl alcohol. Funny how he'd never noticed it when Simon was there.

It was the damnedest thing. Spend four days chained to a man and you got to miss his obnoxious breathing.

* * *

"Okay, I got it," Jayne announced at breakfast the next morning. There was no small amount of alarm around the table when he stood and cleared his throat.

"There once was a tough-as-nails bandit  
Who got stuck to his doctor, one-handed  
The doc lent a palm  
For the captain is fond  
Of milking his underpants squid."

"Jayne," Zoe said delicately, "none of that rhymes."

"Of course it does. You're just not hearin' it right."

"It don't rhyme, but I'm touched you think me tough as nails." Mal laid his recently freed hand over his heart.

"Although for the record, the captain doesn't wear underpants," Simon added from across the table. He had his napkin back in the proper hand, though he still moved it like he expected resistance.

"I knew you snuck a peek," Mal said.

"Like you didn't."

Might be Simon had a point.

Might be Simon was bantering with him.

Might be Mal liked it.

"Pal-m," Zoe said, enunciating the word to death. "Fon-d."

"If you'd stop sayin' every letter," Jayne said as though it were plain as toast, "it'd rhyme just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> _Sha gua: idiot  
> Tiao: fussy, picky  
> Dong ma: Understand?_


End file.
